Happy is England now
by RoxyStarz
Summary: Okay so I was reading a war poem book and stumbled across this one that reminds me of England... Bad summary is Bad... This is an actual poem that a soldier in war wrote and it made feel... Rated for safety... R&R Update: not just for England anymore! I'm making this some type of series now! :)
1. Chapter 1

_**Happy is England now:**_

 **Hi! So, this is my first Hetalia-fic… Well it's more of a poem… Buuutt I found this in a really really great book of poems and I just kind of took out the She's and replaced them with He's. It reminded me of England somehow and if Hetalia was historically correct… Enjoy!**

There is not anything more wonderful

Than a great people moving towards the deep

Of an unguessed and unfeared future; nor

Is aught so dear of all held dear before

As the new passion stirring in their veins

When the destroying dragon wakes from sleep.

Hapy is England now, as never yet!

And though the sorrows of the slow days fret

His faithfullest children, grief itself is proud.

Ev'n the warm beauty of this spring and summer

That turns to bitterness turns then to gladness

Since for this England the beloved ones died.

Happy is England in the brave that die

For wrongs not his and wrongs so sternly his;

Happy in those that give, give, and endure

The pain that never the new years may cure;

Happy in all his dark woods, green fields, towns,

His hills and rivers and his chafing sea.

Whate'er was dear before is dearer now.

There's not a bird singing upon this bough

But sings the sweeter in our English ears:

There's not a nobleness of heart, hand, brain,

But shines the purer; happiest is England now

In those that fight, and watch with pride and tears.

 **If you're reading this: Congratulations! You read the poem! I'm very sorry that this might be really really bad… Welp, I need to do this one too.**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to its rightful owner! It would be a really bad show if I had owned it…**

 **Now the poem belongs to John Feeman… Who is dead… I do not own a dead person… That is wrong on so many levels and I would be a bad person if I owned a dead person…**

 **Review if you wish, If you do not want to then don't, I would love to hear feedback and tips for this Wittle old newbie writer would be appreciated!**

 **Roxy out! X3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi all! Well I gave this some thought and well… I'm going to make this a series of poems… Some of them will be poems that remind me of a certain country others would just be indirectly speaking to a country… Yes that's what I'm going to do! Hope you like it! :)**

 _ **Tipperary Days (a Poem for France I guess)**_

Oh, weren't they the fine boys! You never saw the beat of them,

Singing altogether with their throats bronze-bare;

Fighting-fit and mirth-mad, music in the feet of them,

Swinging on to glory and the wrath out there.

Laughing by and chaffing by, frolic in the smiles of them,

On the road, the white road, all the afternoon;

Strangers in a strange land, miles and miles and miles of them,

Battle-bound and heart-high, and singing this tune:

 _It's a long way to Tipperary'_

 _It's a long way to go;_

 _It's a long way to Tipperary,_

 _And the sweetest girl I know._

 _Goodbye, Piccadilly,_

 _Farewell, Leicester Square:_

 _It's a long, long way to Tipperary,_

 _But my heart's right there_ _._

Come Yvonne and Juliette! Come Mimi and cheer for them!

Throw them flowers and kisses as they pass you by.

Aren't they the lovely lads! Haven't you a tear for them,

Going out so gallantly to dare and die?

What is it they're singing so? Some high hymn of Motherland?

Some immortal chanson of their Faith and King?

Marseillaise or Brabançon, anthem of that other land,

Dears, let us remember it, that song they sing:

 _C'est un chemin long 'to Tepararee',_

 _C'est un chemin long, c'est vrai;_

 _C'est un chemin long 'to Tepararee',_

 _Et la belle fille qu'je connais;_

 _Bonjour, Peekadeely!_

 _Au revoir, Lestaire Squaire!_

 _C'est un chemin long 'to Tepararee',_

 _Mais mon Coeur 'ees zaire'._

The gallant old 'Contemptibles'! There isn't much remains of them,

So full of fun and fitness, and a-singing in their pride;

For some are cold as clabber and the corby picks the brains of them,

And some are black in Blighty, and a-wishing they had died.

Ah me! It seems but yesterday, that great, glad sight of them,

Swinging on to battle as the sky grew black and black;

Yet oh, their glee and glory, and the great, grim fight of them! –

Just whistle Tipperary and it all comes back:

 _It's a long way to Tipperary_

 _(Which means 'ome anywhere);_

 _It's a long way to Tipperary_

 _(And the things wot make you care)._

 _Goodbye, Piccadilly,_

 _('Ow I 'opes my folks is well);_

 _It's a long, long way to Tipperary –_

 _('R! Aint war just 'ell?)_

 **Whelp… Yeah, I just remembered that French soldiers were quite cheerfully singing before they got into the whole war-scene thing and, well, France I guess… Anyway I hope you all liked it!**

 **Before I forget,**

 **Disclaimer: 'Tipperary Days' was written by Robert Service (no joke his last name is actually Service!) And I'm not allowed to own a person… That would be slavery at the least… Also Robert Service might be dead by now so it would be bad to own a dead person… I don't own Hetalia or France either… Although I'm hoping to receive the Hetalia: Paint it white movie for my birthday! X3**

 **So bye All!**

 **Roxy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Roxy here with another poem! This one is for England, I once again just replaced the She's, and her's with He's, and him's. Enjoy!**

 _ **England to His Sons**_

Sons of mine, I hear you thrilling

To the trumpet call of war;

Gird ye then, I give you freely

As I gave your sires before,

All the noblest of the children I in love and anguish bore.

Free in service, wise in justice,

Fearing but dishonour's breath;

Steeled to suffer uncomplaining

Loss and failure, pain and death;

Strong in faith that sees the issue and in hope that triumpheth.

Go, and may the God of battles

You in His good guidance keep:

And if He in wisdom giveth

Unto His beloved sleep,

I accept it nothing asking, save a little space to weep.

 **Haha well… *sweats nervously* I'm typing this at like 11:41 PM in an uncomfortable position, so excuse any and all typos… So reason I chose this for England, well, when I read it I thought 'If England ever gave a motivational speech he would have most likely said something similar to this…' Anywho! Thought? Hate? Love? Mercury? XD Love you all!**

 **Also – Disclaimer: I am not W. N. Hodgson, I will never be W. N. Hodgson; Neither am I Himaruya-Sensei, because I did not think up Hetalia… And even if I did It wouldn't be nearly as good as it is now! X3**

 **Also Imma bribe you all with infinite internet-cookies for a review, even if it's just a short 'Your writing sucks so stop' you'll get infinite internet-cookies; I don't mind insults or flames. In fact give me your worst! Because I'm not here to satisfy everyone in everythin so if your not satisfied, Oh well too bad… :3 I'm tired and cranky yet hyper as well… Can someone explain how that works? XD**

 **Caoi Guys!**

 **Roxy**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! Me again, with another poem for Iggy! I'm starting to think that I like him more than I should… Meh… So onwards to the poem! X3 Also don't question my logic of thinking and connecting these poems to countries… yeap! ^.^**

 _ **The Gift:**_

Marching on Tanga, marching the parch'd plain

Of wavering spear-grass past the Pangani River,

England came to me – me who had always ta'en

But never given before – England, the giver,

In a vision of three poplar-trees that shiver

On still evenings of summer, after rain,

By Slapton Ley, where reed-beds start and quiver

Where scarce a ripple moves the upland grain.

Then I thanked God that now I had suffered pain

And, as the parch'd plain, thirst, and lain awake

Shivering all night through till cold daybreak:

In that I count these sufferings my gain

And his acknowledgment. Nay, more, would fain

Suffer as many more for his sweet sake.

 **Hahaha… No… I should really find happier poems, these are all so depressing! DX**

 **Disclaimer: Francis Brett Young wrote this in German East Africa, I might Live in South Africa, and I might not know much about my country's history (sad but true) but I'm pretty sure German East Africa ceased to exist… Also I dunno how many times I have to say this BUT! I do not own Hetalia… It would suck if I owned it so be happy that I don't own it! XD**

 **Read, Review, Ignore I don't care; Reviews are appreciated though…**

 **Bye bye!**

 **Roxy**


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